An Unlikely Suitor

by Nancy Moser

  Before she lit a lamp in the tiny room, she noticed something odd. Light was coming in through the wall. Lucy kept the light off and moved toward it. There was a small hole in the wall the size of a coin. She peered through it and saw the storeroom, where she’d left a lamp burning.

  She stood upright, her thoughts rushing to uncomfortable places. Was Bonwitter spying on them while they were using the necessary? She shuddered. And looked through the hole again. Directly in view was their stock of muslin.

  Then she got an idea.

  Perhaps a great idea.

  “Shh. Let your sister sleep.”

  Lucy was vaguely aware of her mother and sister moving about the apartment, but sleep was a demanding master.

  She dozed until she felt her mother put a hand upon her shoulder. “You must get up, Lucia. Sofia told me you worked through the night, but Mrs. Flynn will not accept tardiness, for any reason.”

  Memories of her nocturnal busyness won out over sleep. She had to get to work to be there when Rowena and her mother came back for more fittings.

  And then there was her plan regarding Bonwitter . . .

  Lucy sped through her morning ritual and bested her mother and Sofia to the stairs.

  “Maybe you should get less sleep more often,” Mamma said. “I do wish you’d tell us what you were doing.”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  When they entered the shop, the workroom was already abuzz. The beige dress was displayed on the cutting table, and Mrs. Flynn and Dorothy were examining it. “If you didn’t do this, who did?” Mrs. Flynn asked Dorothy.

  “I did.” Lucy stepped forward.

  Her boss looked skeptical. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  “All night,” Mamma added.

  “How did you get in?” Dorothy asked.

  Lucy produced the key. “We have a key so we can clean.”

  Mrs. Flynn held the dress by the shoulders. “It doesn’t hang straight at all. Look at this, the bodice is off center.”

  Lucy shook her head. “So is Miss Langdon. The dress will hang straight on her.”

  Mrs. Flynn lowered the dress and eyed Lucy. “You ignored my wishes; you ignored the alterations we were set to make. You have no right to risk our customer’s patronage, not to mention the expense of the fabric and other materials.”

  “It will work,” Lucy said.

  Mrs. Flynn flashed her a look. “You’re willing to risk your job on this?”

  Lucy felt a sharp pull in her stomach. Would it really come to that? If this one dress failed, would she lose her job? She’d made the alterations without being able to try the dress on Miss Langdon in the process.

  Mrs. Flynn was waiting for an answer.

  Lucy hedged. “The girl needs help. The normal methods of dressmaking won’t work with her, and—”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  The other women in the room looked away and made themselves busy. Doubt slid front and center. Had Lucy made a horrible mistake?

  The doubt let humility and regret have their way with her and Lucy found herself sincerely saying, “I’m sorry, Madame. My intentions were good, but I should have consulted you first.”

  By the lift of her left eyebrow, it was apparent Lucy’s apology took Mrs. Flynn by surprise. “Well, then. You’re new. You didn’t know, but now you do. All designs must go through me.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  “Now, back to work, all of—”

  The bell on the front door announced a customer. Mrs. Flynn left them.

  “Lucky Lucy. That’s what we should call you,” Tessie said. “None of us have ever spoken to Madame like that.”

  “And lived,” Mavis added.

  Sofia rolled a length of ribbon into a circle. “You should have gotten me up. I could have helped.”

  “Hush,” Mamma said. “You stick with the rules, young lady.”

  Sofia tossed the ribbon onto a table, where it unwound and fell still. “But why does Lucy get to—?”

  A stern look from their mother silenced her.

  Lucy took up the hem she’d been working on the day before. As she sewed she thought about the dress she’d altered for Miss Langdon. She’d adjusted the hem after inserting a pocket full of padding on the skirt’s hipline. Another pad had been carefully hidden beneath the three ruffles of the mousseline at each shoulder. It was further disguised with a lapel of black guipure lace that matched a godet detail around the waist. If you didn’t know . . .

  This had to work.

  Timbrook entered the drawing room and announced, “Mr. DeWitt is here, Miss Langdon.”

  Rowena immediately set her embroidery aside. “Show him in.”

  She wasn’t expecting him. Or had she missed something on her calendar? Actually, since being so rude to the group last night at Delmonico’s, she’d feared he wouldn’t want to see her again at all.

  Rowena put a hand to her hair and wished she were wearing her pink day dress instead of this plainer green one. She bit her lips, pinched her cheeks, and—

  Edward entered the room.

  He paused and nodded, and she did the same. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said.

  “Not at all. You are always welcome here, Mr. DeWitt. Please sit down.” She indicated a chair near her settee.

  As he took his place she noticed a book in his hands. She couldn’t see the title because he placed it on his lap and covered it with his hands. She purposely kept her eyes away, to let him take the initiative.

  He got right to the point. “I’ve come with a gift.” He handed her the book.

  It was a copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

  Rowena was taken aback, not certain if he was being kind or making fun of her by hearkening back to her comment about its author at Delmonico’s.

  He must have noticed her reticence, for he quickly added, “It’s a favorite of mine, and since you’re obviously knowledgeable about the book and its author, I wanted to give it to you as a gift. I’m only sorry I couldn’t find The Poor Life, which you mentioned.”

  She released the breath she’d been saving. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. DeWitt.”

  “Please call me Edward. And may I call you Rowena?”

  She felt a glow ignite from within. This was a very good sign. “Of course.”

  Since an opening had presented itself, she brought forward an issue that had been bothering her. “I did want to apologize for my rudeness last night. For me to purposely provoke the group like that . . . it’s not like me at all.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  She’d never expected him to ask. “I . . . I get weary of the nothingness of chitchat.”

  He laughed. “Then I’d better fine-tune the subjects of my conversations. Would you like to talk about current events? I hear there’s a new country in the world: Formosa. Or would you rather talk about music? What’s your favorite opera? Apparently Romeo and Juliet will be at the Metropolitan this next season.”

  Rowena felt herself redden, this time from embarrassment. “You’re making fun of me.”

  His face turned serious and he reached to touch her hand. “Not at all. Forgive me if I’ve offended you. I agree with your view about shallow conversation. I would honestly enjoy speaking with you in depth about any subject of your choosing.”

  Rowena felt like a fool. For she knew nothing about Formosa, and for him to specifically mention the tragic love story Romeo and Juliet . . . But then, a far different subject sprang from her lips. “How do you feel about our obligation to marry? Don’t you find it awkward?”

  Edward’s raised eyebrows revealed surprise. But once again, he put her at ease. “It’s awkward and rather embarrassing, and yet . . . you are a charming woman, Miss—Rowena. If I am obliged to follow my parents’ instruction, I’m pleased you are its subject.”

  Rowena felt tears threaten. “You are the kindest man.”

  He shook his head. “But I’m not. All credit to kind
ness comes about because of you.”

  She was unused to such compliments, to any compliments, and it made her fear they were offered out of pity. “I know I’m not like other women.” She realized she was looking down at her leg, and quickly looked up at him.

  He took her hand fully in his and offered a reassuring squeeze. “No, indeed you are not. Thank God.”

  Indeed.

  That’s exactly what she’d do: Thank God.

  Suddenly the curtain parted, and Mrs. Flynn came into the workroom. She strode to Lucy’s side and spoke softly. “Please come with me, Lucy. Miss Langdon is wearing your gown.”

  “Does it fit?”

  “Just come.” She walked toward the curtain.

  The moment of truth had arrived. Lucy’s nerves sprang to attention. She smoothed her hair. She vaguely heard soft words of encouragement from the other women. Please let the dress work.

  As soon as Lucy entered the room she knew her prayer had been answered. Rowena Langdon walked toward her, her hands outstretched, her face beaming. “You? You’re the one who created this miracle for me?”

  Lucy glanced at Mrs. Flynn. Had she actually given Lucy the credit?

  Mrs. Flynn avoided her gaze. Lucy turned her attention to Miss Langdon, allowing her hands to be taken up. “So you like the dress?” Lucy asked.

  There were tears in the girl’s eyes. “I have never felt so pretty—never felt pretty at all.” She smiled. “Until now.”

  Rowena’s mother put a hand on her daughter’s arm as if a bit uncomfortable with the contact she’d made with Lucy. “We are indeed grateful, Miss . . . ?”

  “Scarpelli,” Lucy said. “Lucy Scarpelli.”

  In spite of her mother’s preference, Rowena held on to Lucy’s hands a bit longer. “Can you rally the same magic for all my new outfits?”

  Mrs. Flynn interrupted. “It’s not magic, I assure you. There are many hours involved and much tedious handwork, mademoiselle.”

  It was obvious the woman was working toward an extra charge of some kind. Lucy would’ve done the work for nothing. Just to know she’d helped Rowena feel pretty was payment enough.

  The bell on the front door announced a new arrival. All heads turned to see Mr. Standish.

  “Good morning, ladies. Mrs. Langdon, Miss Langdon. How nice to see you both.”

  His greeting was reciprocated.

  He studied Rowena’s dress. “My, my,” he said. “How lovely you look.”

  Rowena beamed. “It’s Lucy’s doing. You are aware of my . . . dilemma, Mr. Standish, but now . . .”

  He made a turnaround motion with his finger, his gaze glued to the garment. “To that I say, what dilemma?” Her revolution complete, he took her hands and kissed them. “You are lovely, my dear, and this dress only accentuates your beauty.”

  Miss Langdon blushed. And though it seemed Mr. Standish’s flattery was a bit overboard, upon a second look, Lucy saw he was right. She’d considered Rowena a pretty girl, and the dress removed any awareness of her infirmities, but it seemed with that removal was an addition—a glowing countenance that indicated the woman standing before them was confident and worthy of admiration.

  Lucy felt a wave of pride rush over her. And awe. She’d undertaken the task of fixing Rowena’s dress as a challenge, to prove herself to herself—and others. But to know she’d achieved something far beyond the sewing . . . had touched the wearer, had changed her . . .

  Mr. Standish turned to the mother. “Are you pleased?” he asked.

  “Very. It seems Miss Scarpelli has accomplished what no other seamstress has been able to achieve.”

  An eyebrow rose. Mr. Standish looked upon Lucy. “You are responsible for this dress?”

  A long explanation swept through Lucy’s mind, yet she simply replied, “Yes.”

  “Bravo, Miss Scarpelli. You never told me you were so skilled at fitting.”

  I didn’t know I was. She shrugged. “I enjoyed working with Miss Langdon.”

  Rowena perked up. “And I with you, Miss Scarpelli.”

  Mrs. Flynn interrupted. “Actually, we have many skilled seamstresses who can work—”

  “No,” Rowena said. “I want Miss Scarpelli to sew all my things.” She turned toward her mother. “Don’t you agree?”

  Mrs. Langdon sighed. “Yes. I do believe that’s the way things should proceed.”

  Mrs. Flynn shook her head. “But Miss Scarpelli is new here and should go through more training. Plus, she has other work assigned—”

  Mrs. Langdon’s eyebrow rose. “Work more important than a wardrobe for my daughter?”

  They all looked to Mrs. Flynn. Lucy almost—but not quite—felt sorry for her. There was no way she could deny Mrs. Langdon’s request.

  Mr. Standish stepped in. “Your wish is our command, Mrs. Langdon. Miss Scarpelli will be in charge of your daughter’s wardrobe.” He looked at Mrs. Flynn. “Correct, Madame?”

  “Oui. I’m certain something can be arranged,” Mrs. Flynn said.

  “Will be arranged,” Mr. Standish said.

  Mrs. Flynn hesitated, then gave in. “Will be arranged.”

  He nodded. “I’ll come in tomorrow to check on the progress.”

  Mrs. Langdon plucked a thread from her daughter’s sleeve. “Now let’s have Rowena try on her other outfits so Miss Scarpelli can make more of her alterations.”

  Lucy tried not to smile.

  But failed.

  The unfortunate aspect to being Rowena Langdon’s personal seamstress was the amount of work it entailed. Nearly thirty outfits ranging from walking ensembles to ball gowns. The ball gowns would be the most challenging to alter because the bare arms and décolletage made extra padding harder to hide. At least the fashion tended toward having a short puffed or ruffled sleeve for evening wear. The sleeveless styles of a few years previous would have been far more difficult to adapt.

  The fortunate aspect to being Rowena Langdon’s personal seamstress was her company. The girl was surprisingly candid—especially when her mother commandeered Mrs. Flynn and Dorothy to fit her own costumes and Lucy and Rowena were left alone in one of the private fitting rooms.

  “I am to marry, you know,” Rowena said as Lucy worked to adjust a blue day dress.

  “Congratulations.”

  “No congratulations are due—as yet. I misspoke. I am not yet betrothed, but my parents have agreed with his parents—in theory—that the two of us would make a good match.”

  Rowena did not sound enthused. Lucy would have liked to ask if she loved the man, but knew that would be too presumptuous.

  Rowena continued. “A proposal is the goal of this year’s season in Newport. Edward and I are to fall in love and, as Father says, seal the deal.”

  Lucy hated the air of resignation in Rowena’s voice, yet knew the wealthy had a fondness for arranged marriages. There were some advantages to being poor.

  Though not many.

  Rowena gazed in a mirror while Lucy worked on the train of her dress. “This is the first time I’ve been excited about getting new clothes. That’s your doing, Miss Scarpelli.”

  Lucy spoke through a mouthful of pins. “I’m glad I could help.”

  “It’s extremely important for me to be beautiful so Edward likes me and . . .” She looked over her shoulder, seeking Lucy’s eyes. She lowered her voice. “He needs to desire me.”

  Lucy nodded. Attraction, desire, love. Attraction always came first, but as far as the other two? Which came first? It was not something a woman could control. Actually, there wasn’t much about the whole courting experience that anyone could control—which was yet another reason Lucy was glad to abandon the notion. Why would anyone choose to be a part of such a confusing, haphazard association?

  Rowena turned forward again. “I have absolutely no idea how to be desirable in that way. It isn’t in my nature.”

  “Nor in mine,” Lucy said.

  “Really?”

  “I’m far too practical to be flirtatious.�
�

  Rowena laughed. “And I’m far too impatient.” She sighed deeply. “I’m so glad we met, Miss Scarpelli. I see God’s hand in our friendship.”

  God’s hand? Friendship? Although Lucy enjoyed Rowena’s company, she hadn’t allowed herself to think they were friends. As far as God bringing them together . . . ?

  Rowena was waiting for her response. “I’m glad we met too, Miss Langdon. And I—”

  “Call me Rowena,” she whispered. “At least when we’re alone.”

  “Rowena,” Lucy repeated.

  Calling a wealthy patron by her first name. Perhaps God was involved.

  Sofia pricked her finger and put it in her mouth. How appropriate. For once again, Lucy was the subject of praise and Sofia was merely her little sister, or even worse than that, completely ignored.

  Why didn’t you think of a way to help a customer? Why didn’t you stay up all night to work on it?

  Sofia shook the questions away, for she had no good answers. The truth was, she wasn’t creative like Lucy, nor as hardworking. To willingly forfeit sleep was absurd.

  Then you’ll never receive praise. You’ll never get anything special if you don’t push yourself. Sacrifice a little.

  The voices in her head needed to be silenced, so Sofia set her sewing aside, slipped one of her novels into the fold of her skirt, and escaped to the back room.

  “Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,” she said under her breath. “She gets everything. No one even thinks about me.”

  “Except me.”

  Sofia whirled around and saw Bonwitter watching her from the shadows. How appropriate. She knew from her stories that evil always lurked in the dark. If she’d known he was there today, she never would have risked the storeroom.

  Without another word, she headed back to join the others.

  He lurched forward and stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “Let go!”

  He pulled her close. “I prefer you to your big sister any day.” He ran a hand over her bottom. And squeezed.

  With all the energy she possessed, she shoved him away.

  The memory of his hand upon her body followed her as she ran into the workroom.